Showdown
by Twisted Mackeral
Summary: Life is so much harder without a shiny, rainbow bridge.


For an entire hour, the four greatest warriors the world had to offer watched the young lad select his spot. It was just at the top of a small rise of charred, blackened soil where he stopped. This spot looked exactly the same as every other small rise of blackened soil but it one satisfied the boy. A bleached skull of some long dead animal watched with empty eye sockets as the boy in green took his position, close to the ground, head up, hands and feet dug in for a fast start.  
  
Silently, the four heroes watched the perfectionist ready himself. Ready himself for suicide. It's what all thought though none would speak it. After all, who would question the great Hero of Time?  
  
It became apparent, that the boy was waiting for something. Four heads swivelled around.  
  
The great bulk, the huge, uneven land mass that hung out in the centre of that huge, lava filled crater, was slowly turning. Soon, one of the sides of that thing would be facing them and it would be marginally nearer than all the others.  
  
Perfectionist. What were a few metres to a hundred metre jump?  
  
The rock face grew closer. They could see the hero, tongue out in concentration, sweat streaming down his face from the heat. He'd removed his boots and his pack, saying they would weigh him down. He still had his on hat though. Nothing could separate him from his hat. Not even death, he said.  
  
Suddenly, he was off. The dirt flew out behind him as he sprinted down his hill, arms and legs pummelling in a blur. He began to pick up speed. When he hit the edge, he was nothing but a red smear with a spreading cloud of black dust behind him.  
  
He leapt.  
  
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The ground was far behind him, but a memory. There was no going back now. Obviously.  
  
The rock face was growing closer. But what had once lurked below him was now looming over him, and it was dropping away with unnerving speed.  
  
Closer. The rock glowed red from the light of the larva below it. Sulphurous gases and smoke curled and eddied over its many lumps and whorls.  
  
The four heroes watched Link till he was gone from sight, lost in the smoke and heat. Judging from his trajectory they knew he'd missed, under leaped and was dead.  
  
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"Sssssssshhhhhhhhhhhhiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiitttttttttttttt!!!"  
  
Out of sight and sound of the others, Link was now perfectly free to act how he wanted. He'd been acting calm and collected before to keep the others confident and focused but now, with his lifeline disappearing over his head, he decided to give himself a little break.  
  
It wasn't that he was worried; he just liked to swear on occasions like this.  
  
He flung out an arm. There was a 'pwang' and the coiled spring released. The longshot spearhead ripped through his sleeve. He knew, as the chain spanned the 20 metres distance his jump had lacked, that it would go down in history how he'd made it after so obviously plummeting to his death.  
  
The spearhead dug in deep and held. His right arm took the strain as the chain grew taut. Even before he had begun to swing, he was reeling himself in; he'd worn his Goron tunic but he'd still rather be as far away from that lava as possible. Still, the heat was intense. Sweat peeled off him in waves.  
  
5 metres to go and the mechanism jammed. Link reached into his torn sleeve to where the longshot was connected to his shoulder and released it. He ascended the last few metres the old fashioned way.  
  
Here he met a small snag. The rock was smoother than he had expected, turned smooth by seven years of blasting heat, and it was a minutes reverent searching before he could find anything remotely resembling a hand hold. He dug his fingers in as deep as possible. His muscles bunched and swelled beneath his shirt and he began to pull himself upwards.  
  
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There was a....something on guard in the chain room. Whatever it was called, the thing was humanoid and hairy and had a face like something doctors remove from patients. It was also rather stupid.  
  
Behind it there was a window that usually had three solid iron bars on it. Now only one remained and, with a scraping of crumbling concrete, that one was removed. The window creaked open and a shadow dropped noiselessly to the floor, slunk across the room and slit the creature's throat. It dropped to the floor, gurgling quietly.  
  
Link scanned the room and quickly found what he was looking for: the mechanism by which the drawbridge was controlled with, hidden away in a dark corner.  
  
There was a lever nearby. He swiped away the cobwebs and tried to pull it, but it was too rusted and snapped off in his hands. They didn't lower the drawbridge often; it wasn't exactly a welcoming castle.  
  
He tried kicking the machine but, though entertaining to a 10 year old mind, it did a total of nothing.  
  
The chain that held up the drawbridge rose up out of the machine and through a hole set into the outer wall. It was about the width of a man's arm, black with age and slippery with grease.  
  
Link stood back and observed it for a long while. He kicked it. Then, threading his fingers through the links and setting his feet out wide, he tore it apart. Loose bits of metals tinkled off into the black corners. 


End file.
